


Boy With Matches

by wantonmoss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arson, Bar sex (mentioned but not vividly described), Dean Centric, HBO!Spn, John is a major dick, Just doing it for the aesthetic tbh, Oneshot, Short Story, Smoking, They're like teenagers here but Dean is old enough to consent ofc, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wantonmoss/pseuds/wantonmoss
Summary: When John kicks Dean out in the middle of winter, he finds his own ways of keeping himself warm.
Relationships: Dean/Bartender (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Boy With Matches

It's the middle of January when John kicks him out. Why? Because he pissed him off, somehow. He's not even sure how. Probably by just existing in the same space as him and Sammy. Sure, they argued first. Dean did his part. He yelled into John's face. Called him out on the abuse and neglect. Alright, maybe that's why he's now locked out of a motel room in just a thin jacket while it snows heavily. He has the car keys at least, which John isn't aware of. Well, time to take Baby for a drive then.

He unlocks the door and slides into the front seat. No, he's not old enough to drive yet. He doesn't have a licence. And who gives a crap? He's old enough to gut monsters apparently. He starts the car and just enjoys the purr of the engine for a moment. It's just him, the car and the snow falling slowly to the ground. Like ashes from the bodies he was forced to burn.

He's thinking too much. Not too hard to catch up on that, on zoning out. He finds himself rubbing the thick, crooked scars on his left palm, thumb pressing into the tissue. No, enough. He puts his hands on the steering wheel, taps his fingers. Feeling the leather underneath them. He rolls down the window then, pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his military boots and the matches that John gave him, and lights one. He swallows sharply before taking a drag, the snake tattoo on his throat stretching with the motion.

Blowing the smoke out through his nose he finally drives off. Calmed by the nicotine he can focus on himself and the road. The car isn't much warmer, not with the window rolled all the way down. But Dean's smiling. He's frozen half to death, but he's in control for once. Out of John's reach. Away from everyone and everything that means him harm.

That very night he lets the bartender fuck him over a table after closing hours. He calls him pretty and good. Worthy. He makes him come hard enough to forger his own name afterwards. All while Dean chain smokes the cigarettes he previously stole from the patrons. While he watches the smoke leave his lips, form clouds above him. They kiss and make out, they fuck in the backseat of the Impala. Dean doesn't ask for his number. doesn't ask for his either. They both know this won't become more than just a one-night thing.

Next, he finds himself in an empty church. An abandoned place, he had to climb a fence to get inside. He wants to know what Sam sees in this. This whole praying thing. And so he tries it. He gets on his knees, closes his eyes and... He starts laughing. Shaking his head he struggles to his feet and lights a cigarette. He won't pray. He won't beg some nonexistent invisible force for help. That's... Pathetic.

He walks through the church, soles hitting the ground hard. His footsteps echo in the empty space and it feels... Depressing. Empty. He sits up on the altar and smokes, staring at the carpet where the stained windows leave colourful shadows dancing and swimming around. That feels... Peaceful. Too peaceful. Gives Dean the illusion of safety. He despises it.

He leaves the church burning behind him. It only took a few barrels of gasoline and one match. The last one he has. He stays to watch. Only for a while of course. He knows someone will notice soon. He flees as the sun comes up. By the time the police arrives, he's gone. All that's left is a few charred bricks. When he gets back to the motel he doesn't explain the smell of gasoline or smoke. Doesn't explain anything. Just throws the keys at John and packs his bags up. Sam looks almost scared when he looks at him. He knows. He's smart. But Dean just grins and puts a finger over his lip, telling him to be silent. He doesn't have to threaten him or beg him. They can keep each other's secrets.


End file.
